


Guilt

by colemlock01



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colemlock01/pseuds/colemlock01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tells John that there were no sentimental feelings between him and The Woman. So when John confesses that he slept with her, why is Sherlock so upset?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confessing

It had taken John months to finally work up the courage to tell him. He’d considered telling him many times before but never had the balls for it. This morning was the morning it finally came out. Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to his microscope as usual and John had cleared some of the petri dishes with frightening looking spores on them to the side so he could sit down. He’d given himself a motivation speech in his head before speaking. The classic ‘Come on, you can do it. Just man up and tell him’ was floating around his inside his head. Better to do it now whilst Sherlock was at least partially distracted by whatever was on the microscope slide.

“Sherlock, how did you feel about Irene Adler?” he said quickly. Quicker than intended. Damn, now Sherlock would deduce that he was nervous. His eyes briefly flickered up from the scope to look at John before returning. 

“She was clever. Very clever. I respected her intellect. Nothing more.” Came the blunt reply. John cleared his throat and took another mouthful of coffee.

“So there were no.. romantic feelings involved then?” he asked, avoiding Sherlock’s scrutinizing gaze. He stared down at his mug, his fingers toying with the handle but he was well aware that Sherlock was deducing him.

“She was in love with me. The feeling was not reciprocated.” He replies carefully. “Why are you asking me these questions John?” he finally asked, unable to figure out the reason for John’s peculiar behaviour. He leant back a little from the microscope to analyse him properly but John still avoided looking at him. He sighed a little, unsure how to word this.

“I slept with her.” He says finally. There, he said it. It was out there and there was no taking it back. Sherlock stared at him, apparently lost for words. There’s a first, John thought. He decided now would be a good time to actually look at Sherlock, trying to read his expression and guess what the detective was feeling about this but of course he was unreadable- he always was. Getting no reply, John continued.

“Look, I’m sorry okay? It was while you were passed out when she drugged you. She came back to return your coat and I caught her in your room. Of course I confronted her and then she was asking all these questions and being all... I’m just a man, Sherlock.” He rambled on, frowning as he remembered.

Sherlock had been, without a doubt, completely out of it. John had cancelled his date and stayed behind to keep an eye on him every now and again. The third time he checked, there she was. She was sat on the edge of the bed, talking to Sherlock as he slept. John had dragged her into the sitting room and asked her what the fuck she was playing at. And how the fuck did she get in? She was being difficult and then, out of the blue, asked how long it had been since he’d had a proper fuck. She grinned when he couldn’t give an answer and it escalated from there. 

Before John was aware of what was happening, she had pushed him back into his armchair and ridding herself of her clothes. He’d tried to protest but the sight of her naked body had left him incapable of speech, even if he had seen it before- he hadn’t seen it like this. She sauntered over to him and straddled his lap, her long brown hair hanging down and caressing her curves. She got him out of his shirt and his trousers round his ankles while he just gaped at her with his mouth hanging open. When he finally tried to speak, she simply pressed a manicured finger to his lips and hushed him. “I’ll take good care of you.” She had whispered in his ear before freeing his erection lowering herself onto it- without a condom to John’s surprise. He thought she must be on another kind of birth control before remembering what was happening and snapping himself out of it. She rode him mercilessly, holding onto his shoulders whilst he gripped her hips. There was no intimacy, no romance. It was just a fuck and John had regretted it the minute she flung herself out of their second-storey window. 

He blinked himself back into the present and back under Sherlock’s pale eyes. Without a word, Sherlock rose from the table and sauntered off to his room, slamming the door. John didn’t try to stop him, he’d expected worse. He’d expected shouting and maybe even a punch. But still, being ignored wasn’t exactly pleasant and he wasn’t sure how long it would go on for. Maybe telling the truth wasn’t a good idea after all.

After a few hours of sitting around and doing nothing, John decided to make the first move. He'd made two mugs of tea and went to Sherlock's door, knocking on it gently. Of course there was no reply, he hadn't expected one. "I made you some tea." he called through the wood. Once again, nothing. This was ridiculous, Sherlock had just come out and said that he felt nothing for Irene other than respect so why was he behaving like this? He let himself in to Sherlock's room to see Sherlock sat cross-legged on the centre of the bed, plucking the strings of his violin as he stared forward.

"I didn't say come in." came the sharp tone. John set down the mug and sighed.

"I brought you tea." he replied simply. "Look Sherlock, I am sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. And you just said yourself that you didn't have feelings for her. Why are you so pissed at me?" he leant against the doorframe while he waited for an answer that never came. "Fine." he said eventually. "Let me know when you decide to grow up and talk about this like an adult." he snapped and turned on his heels out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He got bored again quickly and decided to go out.

Sherlock remained in his bedroom for the rest of the night. His tea went cold.


	2. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of John's confession, things are awkward in the 221B household. Things get worse when John has an interesting dream about his flatmate.

They hadn’t spoken for two days, both of them avoiding the other. Despite John’s desire to patch things up between them and have an adult conversation about it, he decided the best course of action was to give Sherlock some space for a while. He woke on the third day with the intention of finally talking to Sherlock today. As he made breakfast, he set out two mugs again and, after staring at Sherlock’s closed door for roughly five minutes, he finally built up the courage to take it to him. He didn’t bother knocking this time and just let himself in to find an empty room with a bed that didn’t look slept in. Worry washed over him but this wasn’t a new thing for Sherlock. He often buggered off without mentioning where he was going or what for. After finally hunting down his phone, John sent him a text.

_Where are you? –JW_

He sat in his armchair with his coffee while he waited for a reply, which came around ten minutes later. 

_Case. –SH_

John was a little hurt that he hadn’t been invited along but Sherlock was obviously still upset with him so he didn’t dwell on it. He set about his day as usual, clearing up the flat as best as he could, sitting down to watch some undisturbed telly and catching up on his blog entries but soon enough he was bored. “Now I know why he shoots the walls.” He said aloud to himself as he flicked through the channels on the telly for the third time. He eyed his phone on the arm of the chair and picked it up. No messages, obviously. He tapped out another to Sherlock.

_Can we please talk about this when you get home? –JW_

The reply took even longer this time and John couldn’t decide if it was because Sherlock was busy or just avoiding him. After about twenty-five minutes of drumming his fingers and bouncing his knee with impatience, the phone finally buzzed making him jump.

_I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about. –SH_

John actually groaned aloud in frustration and grumbled to himself as he typed out the reply.

_There clearly is. I may be an idiot but even I can figure out that you’re upset with me. –JW_

_Nothing more needs to be said about it. Nonetheless, I will comply with your desire to ‘talk about this’. I’ll be home within the next few hours, after this case is wrapped up. –SH_

The reply was quick and startled John again. He read it with a small frown, not expecting Sherlock to give in so easily. He rubbed his forehead with a sigh and debated with himself whether it was a good idea to confess to Sherlock at all. He soon dozed off in his armchair with his head rested on his knuckles.

In his dreams, he relived the scenario with Miss Adler but instead of the woman stood before him, Sherlock was stood there, gazing at him with an expression that couldn’t be described as anything other than lust. If that wasn’t enough, there was a very obvious tenting in his trousers. This dream Sherlock took a step towards John and wet his lips before literally tearing his shirt apart and closing the gap between them to connect their lips. John was shoved back into his armchair like the reality version but this time Sherlock was straddling him and poking him in the stomach with a very firm erection. His dream skipped a step and suddenly they were both naked, Sherlock on the verge of lowering himself onto John’s own erection while John dug his fingertips into the pale hips. 

John jumped awake with a racing heart and tight trousers. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his temples. He definitely hadn’t got aroused by that dream. His body would beg to differ but he was adamant that it was just the idea of sex and not Sherlock. He ran up to his room quickly and freed his erection the minute he closed the door. He wrapped a hand around it and attempted to fill his mind with images of the night spent with Miss Adler rather than the dream he’d just had. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the pale skin out of his mind as he stroked. Not the slight indentation of abdominal muscles nor the curvature of his hips. He pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the explicit moans that erupted in his throat. His mind filled with the image of Sherlock with an achingly hard cock, lowering himself onto John’s. John came into his palm, with a muffled cry and stood for a moment with his trousers and pants round his ankles while his breath came back to him. 

At that moment he heard the door of the flat open and the familiar click of expensive shoes on the staircase. He did the best to tidy himself up and look anything but flushed and had little success. He headed downstairs to the living room regardless and was met by Sherlock waiting for him in his usual armchair.

“John.”


	3. Talking

John sat in the opposite armchair, facing Sherlock and tried not to remember his dream or what he’d just done. 

“Hi.” He said simply, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and trying to look everywhere but at the man in front of him.

“You wanted to talk? Here we are, let’s talk.” Sherlock replied simply, his steepled fingers under his chin as his eyes darted over John’s person, making deductions.

“Yes, um..” John didn’t really know how to start. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really understand why you’re pissed at me.” He confessed, averting his eyes from Sherlock’s powerful gaze. “You said yourself that you didn’t have feelings for her and neither do I. It was a one time thing, it meant nothing. I think she was doing it to make you jealous to be honest.” He chuckled humourlessly and searched Sherlock’s expression. 

“What gives you the impression that I’m angry with you John?” Sherlock tilted his head slightly and the top of his nose creased slightly- just between his eyebrows. John blinked at him. 

“Are you joking? Sherlock, we haven’t spoken properly in days! You wouldn’t talk to me! What other conclusion am I supposed to draw from that?” he said exasperatedly. “I know you’re mad at me, I just don’t know why! You said the feeling wasn’t reciprocated so why are you so mad that I fucked her?!” he muttered angrily. “I’m so tired of this. It didn’t mean a thing and I’m sorry. I don’t want to wreck our friendship over this.”

“I’m not angry, John.” Sherlock kept his cool despite John’s little outburst. He unsteepled his fingers and rested his hands on the arms of the chair, his slender fingers unconsciously caressing the cool, brown leather. “I’m.. disappointed. Why her?” he asked, his expression almost pained.

“I don’t know.” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you said women aren’t exactly your area but even you must see how attractive she is. When a woman like that comes on to you.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen!” 

“So she initiated it then?” Sherlock had his head tilted a fraction and narrowed his eyes, ready to store all this new information into the mind palace. Who’d have thought the infamous Irene Adler would make a move on plain and ordinary John Watson. It was difficult for Sherlock to get his brain around. He hadn’t even realised that John had started speaking again before he asked another question. “What happened? I want to know all of it.”

“W-what?” John stuttered and blinked at him. “Sherlock, what could you possibly gain from knowing what happened?” he asked with a frown, eyeing his flatmate nervously. “It doesn’t matter. I told you it was a mistake, please can we just forget it.”

“I want to know.” Sherlock replied simply. He stood up and went to stand in front of John’s chair, in almost the exact same spot that Miss Adler had been stood. “Show me.” He said in a low voice. 

John stared at him, dumbfounded for a second. Once he’d recovered, he stood with a huff. “Fine, but can we let it go after this?” he begged but didn’t wait for an answer. He positioned Sherlock properly so he was stood exactly where Irene had been and then took a small step. “She was stood there. I was here.” he said simply, still eyeing Sherlock’s expression as he was curious as to what the detective would be doing with all this information. Sherlock simply nodded and looked at John expectantly for him to proceed.  
“Then she pushed me backwards into the chair.” John muttered looking at his feet. He swore he could feel his heart in his throat when Sherlock mimicked the action. “For Gods- Sherlock, what are you doing?” he frowned up at him.

“Experimenting.” He replied with a shrug, as if the answer was obvious. His eyes narrowed at John in the chair before he cleared his throat. “What next?”

“Then she took off her clothes, got my dick out and rode my lap.” John snapped in reply, annoyed at being the subject for yet another of Sherlock’s experiments. He didn’t have long to be annoyed as Sherlock got into his lap. No, no, this was not good. John’s pupils visibly dilated and he could feel the vein in his neck throbbing. He was focusing so much on not getting hard in his trousers that he momentarily forgot where he was. Sherlock smirked, clearly approving of what he saw.

“Well this is interesting.” Sherlock purred in that velvet smooth voice. “You assumed, John, that I was angry at you for sleeping with Miss Adler because I had feelings for her, correct?” All John could do was nod. “Oh John, you see but you do not observe.” He said softly and leaned down, closing the gap between John’s lips and his own. It took John a moment to realise what was going on before he relaxed into the kiss. Kissing Sherlock was strange, like it was something you weren't supposed to do, like eating christmas pudding on your birthday or having easter eggs on hallowe'en. His lips were surprisingly soft and tender. Suddenly, John snapped, remembering what a complete arsehole Sherlock had been and still feeling bitter for being treated like an experiment. He shoved Sherlock from his lap, sending the detective toppling to the floor with a look of confusion as he stormed out of the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I finally added another chapter. I get easily distracted and I have so many other ideas, I'm sorry okay? Well, if you actually care how this story ends anyway.. awkward..


	4. Kissing

John stayed out for the rest of the day, sulking around the streets of London and wandering around aimlessly before he had to surrender and head back to the flat, dying for a good cup of tea and his armchair. When he arrived at the flat, Sherlock was lying in his thinking pose on the sofa, neither of them said a word to each other. John was in his armchair sipping tea by the time Sherlock snapped out of it.

“John.” He said simply. “I apologise if I offended you earlier.” He flushed a little. If John wasn’t mistaken, he’d say Sherlock was embarrassed. 

“It’s fine, Sherlock. Maybe I overreacted slightly. But I will not be a subject of one of your fucking experiments. Not like that, not when there’s too many.. feelings involved.” There, he’d said it, he’d said the word feelings in regard to one Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

“Experiment?” Sherlock repeated, sitting up slightly. “John, I would never-.. I can’t believe you’d think that of me.” He said, sounding almost like he was upset. “I meant what I said earlier, I wasn’t angry with you because I had feelings for /her/.” He paused, waiting for John to catch up.

“Please, don’t do this Sherlock. Don’t toy with me.” It wasn’t meant to come out as a beg but John couldn’t stop the silent plea that fell out with his words. He stared into his tea, the liquid still spinning slightly in the china from where he’d stirred in the milk (yes, they actually had milk). He looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “Tell me what this is about.” He said quietly. 

Sherlock sat up properly on the sofa so he could meet John’s gaze. “I’ve noticed that things have altered between us. Be it lingering glances or touches, the catch of breath when our skin meets. I may not be as experienced when it comes to these sorts of things but I’m not an idiot, John.” He said simply, clearing his throat. He took a few deep breaths before standing and kneeling to move in front of John. He looked up at him with large, honest eyes. “I am so in love with you. And I know you love me too, I know you do. It makes me feel sick that she got to you first, and I’m sorry I embarrassed you earlier. I thought that would be what you wanted and I realise my mistake now. I understand why you slept with her and I understand why she slept with you. But all of that is in the past now and it’s made me realise how much I want to be with you, John. So that’s it, Sherlock Holmes does have feelings after all.” He finished with a clear of his throat and a small sheepish smile. The blush on his cheeks was still present, fuelled on by his confession.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, the hand holding his tea faltering as he took in all this new information and spilling tea over his lap. He didn’t even notice the burning on his legs, making Sherlock frown as he took the mug away. Swallowing thickly, John slid from the chair and knelt in front of Sherlock, their faces only inches apart. He smiled as his blue eyes met the grey. 

“I love you too.” He said simply. A grin spread over his face which was soon mirrored by Sherlock.

“I already knew that.” He teased before his face went serious again. “May I kiss you, John?” he asked, the blush creeping back up as he averted his eyes bashfully. John brought a hand up to cup Sherlock’s jaw, raising his head up so their eyes met again. He nodded once and smiled, his eyes fluttering shut as Sherlock closed the gap between their faces. John gasped through his nose as their lips met. Sherlock’s lips were softer than he anticipated, considering he rarely saw them out of their usual hard line. Even though his eyes were closed, he could still make out the prominent cupid’s bow which made him smile into the kiss. 

Surprisingly, it was Sherlock who proceeded to deepen the kiss, gently parting his lips and running the tip of his tongue along the seal of John’s lips. The doctor willingly parted his lips for Sherlock’s wandering tongue although it wasn’t incorporated into the kiss yet. Sherlock sucked John’s upper lip between his and nibbled on it softly, continuing to kiss his John with open lips before John’s tongue slowly crept forward, teasing the edge of Sherlock’s mouth and encouraging him to follow.  
Sherlock gasped when his tongue touched John’s for the first time and slid his hands up John’s chest to wrap around his shoulders. He was content with kissing his army doctor and made small, happy noises in his throat, which were met with soft moans from John. After a few more minutes, John broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s panting softly.

“I understand you’re new to this. We can take things as quickly or as slow as you like. I will wait.” He tells him, stroking the prominent cheek bone with his thumb and keeping his eyes closed as he tries to breathe evenly to calm himself. Sherlock smiled softly at John, giving him a soft, chaste kiss as a thanks before he spoke again.

“Bedroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, to lead up to the grand finale! Apologies for the hiatus if you have actually been following this story. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever so thank-you if you stuck with it so far. I'm completely new to this so apologies if my writing style isn't up to scratch- any criticism be it constructive or not is welcome.


End file.
